The Cure - Episode One: The Baby and the Bathwater
by Ducks - The Anti-Joss
Summary: Buffy has saved Angel. Now will he have to kill her? (Alternate Season 4)


**_"The Cure, or The Baby and the Bathwater"_** by Ducks

Disclaimer: Do I need to state the obvious? I'm not Joss, I'm not Mutant Enemy (although my partner might disagree), I don't know the Kuzuis, and I have ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with Fox and/or WB... and besides, suing me would be like, well, like a Slayer falling in love with a Vampire... you can try and try, but ya ain't gonna get nothin' out of it but pain... (i.e. I'm not making any money from these stories, thus, I have no money -- although I do have a job-- so don't bother suing.)

ANYHOO... the story picks up more or less at the beginning of "Graduation Day, Part 2"... so if you haven't had the pleasure of even seeing a poor internet bootleg of the ep, this is a MAJOR spoiler. Of course, if you haven't seen it, you wouldn't know that until you HAD seen it... but I digress. The rest of the Ep doesn't happen, and it would appear most of Season Three didn't happen, either. No mayor, bare mention of Faith, no Ascension, etc.   


* * *

**_Prologue_**

She punched Angel a third time, and he felt the change overcome him. He was weak from his illness, and it was the demon who had the strength to take control. He grabbed Buffy roughly by her tiny shoulders, and yanked her to him. He heard her gasp. His human soul, that part of him subsumed by the demon, the part of him who loved Buffy so much, cried out in objection. This was a horror beyond bearing.

The demon, however, had no such reservations. He sank his fangs into the soft skin of the Slayer's neck. The flesh was sweet, like cream butter, and hotter than any he'd tasted before. As his teeth set into the tough jugular vein, the rich blood, tinged with the magick born in the Chosen One, pounded into his mouth and down his throat. He moaned with mingled pleasure and horrified resignation, tugging her closer for better purchase. She gasped again and moaned loudly in return.

They fell to the floor. Even his human side could not help but be overcome by the sensations rushing through him -- the magick, the powerful life force running like an electric current between them.

Suddenly, he could feel her heart as if it were his own, pounding and racing to deliver the sweet blood to her starving tissues -- but instead, it was only filling him. He felt incredible strength -- hers and his own -- surge through him. His human self screamed in horror at what was happening.

The demon simply drank.

Her breath was coming faster, now. She reached out, in pain or ecstasy he didn't know and barely cared, crushing a sterling pitcher lying on the floor nearby. She wrapper her strong legs around him and gripped him to her. He grunted, from the pressure of her embrace as well as the greed of   
feeding on her magickal blood.

Angel could feel her heart slowing, exhausted and famished, her legs releasing him as her body went limp. But still he could not stop -- her blood was like liquid rapture -- the life essence pouring into him had him in it's clutches, like a drug.

Abruptly, her heart stopped. Angel regained control and rolled away from her, his human self fully re-emerging.

"Oh, God, Buffy!" He groaned, lifting her body up from the floor. He felt warm and flushed with her blood, while she now lay cold and pale in his arms. He pulled her to him. What had he done? By the shallowness of her breath, he could tell there were only moments remaining in her already short life. She managed to turn her eyes to meet his. Her gaze held nothing but love and understanding, not the contempt he felt he deserved. Then the light went out.

He bellowed at the top of his lungs. There was nothing he could do. He had killed her -- the love of his life, the only person who had ever given him a moment's true happiness, ever made him feel even a little bit worthy of the life he had been given. And he had destroyed her, as he had everyone else who had ever cared for him.

Unless...

Tears streamed down his face and he sobbed quietly as he sliced open his wrist. It was the only way to save her, now-- although he would also be damning her, and would thus be thrice damned himself.

"I am so sorry... Buffy..."

He put his bleeding wrist over her mouth so the blood --her blood-- poured freely into it. For a moment, nothing happened. A deep red rivulet merely dribbled out of the corner of her lips. She was white as a sheet, almost grey, and her eyes stared into nothing. Then, suddenly, she reached   
up and gripped his arm tightly to her mouth, her eyes closed, sucking his wrist so hard it hurt. He gasped slightly from the pain, afraid that his veins might collapse from the pressure.

Buffy grunted as she fed ravenously. Angel turned away in disgust and shame. He was truly a monster, now -- a monster far beyond any redemption.

After a few minutes, he ripped his arm out of her grasp. She was on her feet in a moment, smiling cruelly, wiping the blood from her chin.

"Mmmmm... you sure were good..." She opened her mouth wide to reveal her new fangs. "Lover..."

Angel stood his ground, despite his horror and growing fear. This monster used to be Buffy. He had to remember that. And there was only one thing to do to help her now.

She ran a hand over her vampire features, frowning. "Boy, you sure did it this time didn't you, loser? Of all the rotten things you've done, this has GOT to be the worst." She snapped.

He blanched as if struck. He tried to keep control. He couldn't lose his temper, or things would get...

'Uglier?' he thought with bitter sarcasm. He looked with self-loathing on Buffy's vampire visage.

He only had time for that one glance, that one thought, before she was upon him. She was doubly strong now, her Slayer strength enhanced by her vampire strength. They exchanged several stunning blows -- but he couldn't put his heart behind his. This was his doing, how could he punish her for it? Even if she was now a demon...

"I'd just like to show you my sincere thanks, sweetheart." She spat, landing a kick to his chest that sent him flying across the room. He reeled from the impact with the far wall, still resisting reverting to full fight mode. He had to act quickly, or she would certainly destroy him, and the   
world would be in big trouble. At that moment, she was breaking the leg off his coffee table to make a pretty nice, pointy stake.

"Shit." was all he could think of to say.

As he rose to move, hoping he could fend off her killer instinct until he could figure out what to do to slow her down, his hand came to rest on a small, smooth, but clearly heavy statue. He lifted it, holding it gingerly behind his back. When she charged, he swung at her with all his might -- there was no fear of killing her now even if he dropped a ten ton weight on her head.

But he could render her unconscious, temporarily. The statue met her skull with a dull crunch, and Buffy dropped to the floor like a stone.

He wasted no time, although his instincts raced between running in terror and falling to his knees in unbridled hysterics. He scooped Buffy up in his arms and set her wrists in the shackles she had once used to keep him restrained.

He looked at her for a long while, sorrow and remorse shadowing his heart as he mourned her, before he picked up the phone and dialed. He steeled himself for the inevitable conflict he was about to face.

"Hello, Willow?"

* * *

Chapter 2

It had been a long few days, for Angel. The others had left, finally, after several more attempted attacks by Xander, Giles forcing him to give a fully detailed account of what had passed between him and Buffy, and Willow mostly crying. After they had gone, he left to replenish his blood supply, doubling it to make sure there was enough for Buffy.

He gritted his teeth on the walk home from Willy's. Of all the pain he had endured, this was the worst. He was bringing home dinner for he and his girlfriend... problem was, dinner was fresh pig's blood, and he had turned his girlfriend into a hideous, blood-thirsty demon.

Had he done the right thing? Had Xander been right -- should he have let Buffy die?

He should never have allowed her to goad him into biting her in the first place. He should have let her kill him, first.

Now... now he had lost her for certain, forever. And her friends loathed him more than they ever had before. He had murdered Buffy. He had killed the Slayer.

Spike would be proud. Of course, Spike hated him too.

What was Buffy's mother going to say?

*****

She wailed hysterically in Giles' arms.

Willow and Xander sat, alternately wringing their hands and staring about the room, trying not to watch or to think about what was happening.

"But, uh... she's not dead... exactly..." Willow offered weakly, patting Joyce's shoulder.

Joyce's tears didn't slow. Giles merely held her, seriously needing the comfort himself.

Willow frowned and sat back. She wasn't helping, she knew. Buffy was dead, essentially, to her mother. She certainly couldn't live at home again -- well, maybe in the basement... but her night time-only appearances might be hard to explain. And her dad -- what would they tell her dad? At least Joyce had had an inkling that such a thing was possible... Mr. Summers probably didn't even believe vampires existed... Willow sure hadn't, before Buffy... and now his daughter was one.

She played over parts of the curse in her head again to distract herself.

Xander felt numb, and looked catatonic. Saying he was running on autopilot was an extreme understatement. Buffy...dead...Buffy...dead...Buffy...dead... the morbid cadence chugged through his brain like the Little Bad Thought That Could. After all the times Buffy had saved his sorry ass, and she was gone, just like that. He heard Willow's feeble insistence that she wasn't exactly dead... 'Oh, no...sorry, she's only undead, and that's so much better...' he thought.

There was no way she'd ever go out with him now.

He shocked even himself with his selfish insensitivity. What was he thinking? Sorrow tugged at his heart again as if to remind him. Buffy was dead...

And it was all because of Angel. Xander felt rage course through him, burning away the sorrow. That bastard -- he wanted Angel dead now, more than ever. And if it was by his hand, so much the better. He fought the urge to jump up and go kill him on the spot.

The sick part was, Buffy really needed him, now. Once her soul was restored, she would have to learn how to live as a vampire. Dead Asshole had plenty of experience in that arena...

What was it with women and dangerous men who were no good for them? Of course, this was an extreme case... but he still didn't get it.

Giles felt nothing. Thought nothing. He held Joyce's sobbing figure and simply sat. When Angel had murdered Jenny, he had gone numb. What he was now was less feeling than that. A vacuum, perhaps-- anti-thought, anti-feeling.

He would think about the practical things later. The upcoming ritual, what Buffy's "life" would be like now, what the Council might do... and what to do about Angel. Certainly something had to be done about the creature now! But no -- it was not completely Angel's doing, Buffy was at least partially responsible, pig-headedly forcing an ill Angel into a confrontation... but then, Angel was a quarter of a millennium old -- he should have known better.

Giles wondered if another Slayer would be called. He wondered if he could survive the rending pain in his heart.

"Buffy..." he whispered.

* * *

  
Chapter 3 

Buffy continued her severe mocking campaign when Angel returned.

"Oh, gee, yummy, Angel! Cold dinner! Mmm-mmm... leftovers!"

Her arms were tired. She was hungry. She wanted to kill.

Angel gazed at her for several long moments. Then, keeping at arm's length, slid a tray with a large bowl of the pig's blood at her.

"Drink it. You need your strength."

"Are you sure, big boy? Think you can handle it?"

He chose not to respond. She went on:

"What do I need my strength for, Angelus... for my spiffy new un-life? Yes, yes! Won't it be fun???? But I prefer my meals a little more... alive, if you know what I mean." She drank anyway, draining the bowl in seconds.

Angel winced at the slurping noises she made. It was hard for him to stomach his own meal, hearing her.

"Won't we have fun?" She sing-songed when she had finished, "I guess we can finally be together now, huh? Crawling the night together... and Oooh! Now maybe I can get a little!"

Angel closed his eyes. Nothing she could say should have surprised him She was a sarcastic woman with a rapier wit -- without the warmth, love, and compassion a soul provided, she was only a particularly nasty-mouthed demon, wearing Buffy's face.

He hadn't been the nicest guy himself, before he regained his precious soul. The soul which so adored Buffy... Buffy, who had shone light on it, warmed it, healed it as much as it could possibly be healed...

"We can travel the world... by freighter! Hit all the hot night spots! But I guess its all catalog shopping for me from now on... how I'll miss Neiman Marcus..."

He felt like she was slowly dripping holy water in his eyes, or lightly brushing a cross over his skin. Only it hurt more.

"And who will I get to do my hair? Do you think there are all-night beauty salons?"

He turned so she wouldn't see his tears. He pretended to stoke the unneeded fire.

"I guess college is out of the question. Although there is night school... or correspondence courses. But mostly, what I want to do is eat. Are you this hungry all the time? It's a wonder you're not HUGE."

Angel massaged his temples. He wished the others would come back sooner rather than later. Every now and again, Buffy said something that made him want to kill her.

Her mocking went on, a long litany of low-blows, sarcastic commentary, extreme insults and horrible references to their past.

She was, quite frankly, a bitch.

It was close to 24 hours later before she slept. That pleasurable escape eluded Angel. He sat and watched her, instead. It was hard for her to look peaceful, with her new vamp features, but this was as close as it got.

When he'd turned her, had hadn't thought past that moment. And now? Now he had a whole lot of things to consider before Buffy's soul was restored -- if it could be restored.

What if Willow failed? What would they do then? Angel steeled himself. There was no doubt she would have to be killed, if that was the case. The world could not handle the horror of a vampire with the cunning and strength, the focus and skill, of a Slayer.

He would do it himself, of course. He was the only one who deserved the tortuous aftermath of such a horrible task. The others would never survive the guilt or the nightmares -- or wouldn't have the strength to do it to begin with.

Angel already had her death on his conscience, her blood on his hands -- and in his veins -- why should the final literal act make any difference?

But more daunting was the thought that Willow's magick might work. Then all of their tasks would suddenly get overwhelming. Buffy would be completely dependent on Angel for survival - - to learn the do's and don'ts, ins and outs of vampirehood. Where and how to get fresh, non- living food...

And how could he be sure she wouldn't want to hunt? He had had the guilt of a hundred years of murder to dissuade him from killing. Maybe Buffy would have no such restraint. The thought simultaneously disturbed and disgusted him. He wouldn't be able to handle that.

"Aaaaaan-gellll." she sing-songed.

"Shut up, Buffy." He snapped, and left.

* * *

Chapter 4

Angel was gone most of that night. He couldn't bear to be near this monster anymore. Couldn't stand to look at her or listen to her taunt him.

Buffy sat alone on the cold stone floor. It felt odd, being dead. Once she had eaten the second bloody meal Angel left her, she hadn't been so hunger-driven. And being bound as she was, she could do nothing but think, really.

She had felt her new strength and tried to break her bonds, but to no avail. She wondered what Angel and the gang had in store for her. She assumed they would want Buffy back, and so would try to restore her soul.

Whatever. It mattered little to her, now. Maybe they would just kill her. She certainly wanted to kill them... and eat them. But no, Angel had had ample opportunity, but had made no move to do so.

She just waited. It was so weird -- she could feel her body humming with all the blood she'd drank, but she had no pulse, no heartbeat, no breath. She was dead. Weird.

She, like Giles, wondered if another Slayer would be called. But she, unlike Giles, wondered if the new Slayer would try to kill her.

"Yeah, right. Let her try..." she said aloud to the empty room.

She thought about her life, now dead also, with cold detachment. How silly it all seemed, now, except for all the killing, which seemed like fun. She certainly wouldn't be wasting her time slaying evil stuff, that was for sure. She was strictly about a good time from now on.

Her thoughts turned to Angel... speaking of fun. Lust colored her vision... she could have all she wanted of him, now -- no stupid worries about contentment or soul losing or love. He was a hotty, and fab in the sack, if she remembered correctly. Now they could rumble like bunnies and nobody would care. Although, she imagined, things might be kind of iffy again if she got her soul back, and she doubted Mr. Goody-Vampire-Two-Shoes wanted much to do with who she was now.

She shrugged, chains clanking. Whatever.

******

Angel reappeared at dawn to find Buffy sleeping again. She had obviously struggled some -- bleeding sores were beginning to heal on her wrists.

He blinked, more than a little shocked, to see her human face had returned. It usually took years to learn that trick, and most demons didn't really care to take the time. Ugly was fine for them. But Buffy was no ordinary demon.

She was an extremely vain one.

He softened, a little, to see her beautiful face once again. He had spent all night wandering the streets, going over every moment he had spent with Buffy in his mind. All her smiles, her kisses, and warm caresses, all the love she had given him. He'd thought about the new possibilities, himself. Had the rules changed because she was also now a vampire?

He doubted it. He still loved her. The danger had to be still present as long as that was true. The irony of the current moment struck him -- he could make love with this creature until doomsday, with no ramifications. But he wouldn't touch that with... well, with anything. He was sickened by the notion he would have to be with her constantly for a good, long time... and yet nothing, and everything, had changed. They still couldn't be together.

He straightened the living room and arranged the furniture to make space for the ritual that evening. He began unpacking supplies Willow had asked for: sage, frankincense, oak firewood logs, a birch branch, wine...

They wouldn't let him get the orb, or return to her house for any personal items they needed.

"Leave that to Giles, please." Willow had said, coldly, which was unusual for Willow.

The distrust, anger, and disgust in her voice had hurt him to the core. She was the sweetest of them all, the only one who held out her hand to him in friendship, despite her fear. Now she hated him, too.

Boy, when the Romany conjured up a torturous punishment, they sure didn't skimp on the torture.

He heard clanking as Buffy stirred.

"Hey! Good to see you, sweetie! Did you bring me something to eat?"

He turned to look at her --still human-- face. It hurt, seeing her smile.

"You like? Not bad for a dead chick, huh? Whatdya say we... light some candles... strike up a little Bolero... and get to the fun stuff?" Her eyes and smile both widened seductively.

A look of disgust passed over his features. "Not likely," he muttered.

"Oh, yeah! You like your lays alive, doncha? Oh well. Your loss."

If at any point Angel had wanted to kill this creature with Buffy's face, and he HAD, it was never more than right this moment.  
"The others will be here at nightfall. I have a lot to do." He strolled from the room, reading the index cards Willow had given him.

"How come you don't have a TV?" She called to his retreating back. She pouted. "I'm bored." She said forlornly.

* * *

Chapter 5

"What was lost shall be found. Not dead, nor not of the living, spirits of the Interregnum, I call! Let her know the pain of humanity, gods! Reach your wizened hands to me -- give me the soul of Buffy Summers! Restore to the corporeal vessel that which separates us from the beast! Use this orb as your guide! Gods, bind her, cast her heart from the demon realm! Return her soul! I call on you, gods, do not ignore this supplication! Let this orb be the vessel to carry her soul to her! It is written, this power is my people's right to wield! Let it be so! NOW!" (Various pieces of the curse patched together from Transcripts of _Becoming, Parts I & II_)

*****

They didn't need, or want, Angel in the circle for the ritual. Which was fine with him, because the whole operation made him nervous. Willow spoke the words of the curse in English, directing the power they raised, and Oz, Xander, Cordelia and Giles chanted the words -- two of them in Latin, two in the tongue of the Kalderash. From the first moment the incense was lit and Willow began the chant, Angel thought he might get physically ill. He checked to make sure Buffy's shackles were secure, then promptly left the room.

'Hiding in my bedroom like the coward I am', he thought. Buffy was going through the biggest trauma of her young life, and he wasn't there for her -- again. But hearing the ritual, seeing the scene, brought back the pain of his own restoration, and his soul ached doubly for Buffy having to go through it. At least she didn't have a century of hideous crimes to feel guilty for.

He heard the tone of Willow's litany rise, and saw the lights flashing. Then, Buffy screamed.

Dead silence followed. Then, Buffy's soft sobbing. Angel ran back to the living room. Giles was crouching just out of Buffy's reach, speaking her name. The others stood a way back, watching.

The next ten seconds were the most tense he could remember -- with the exception of waiting to see if Buffy had survived her turning in the first place...

"Buffy?" Angel said to her. The others, gathered around her now, turned collectively to glare at him. His presence was clearly unwelcome. But this was his home, his lover, his doing, his responsibility, and he wasn't about to be driven off of the only duty he could perform for her.

Buffy slowly raised her face toward him. It was flushed and streaked with tears -- a look of misery dominating her pretty features.

"Angel?" She said, softly.

The others moved aside for him. He didn't hesitate to take her down from the chains. She collapsed into his arms, sobbing. He held her.

The others lingered for a few moments, unsure what to say or do, then gathered their things and silently left -- all but Giles. He put his hands comfortingly Buffy and Angel -- one hand on Angel's shoulder, the other softly caressing Buffy's back, which heaved with her sobs.

"You will keep us up to date." He said to Angel.

Angel nodded, his eyes full of pain and remorse.

Giles nodded back, then left the mansion. Buffy, cradled in Angel's arms, continued to cry.

*****

It was a long time before Buffy stopped crying, and only then because she fell into a deep sleep. He was glad he had stocked up enough blood to last for several days and then some. Buffy would eventually need to drink -- a lot. And he didn't want to leave her alone. If she woke up, she would undoubtedly be confused and upset...

He carried her into his bedroom and gently laid her on the bed. He undressed her with care, and put one of his tee-shirts on her. She never stirred. He tucked the blankets up over her, which she grabbed and huddled to herself. She looked so tired...

Every now and again she would sniffle or cry out in her dreams, so he sat beside her on the edge of the bed and softly stroked her hair. He would not leave her side, now, no matter what.

After a while, she curled up, huddling close to him, her arms gripping him as if for dear life. He felt a surge of love flow through him. This incredible woman had given him everything -- including her life. His biggest regret was that there was no way to repay that sacrifice. But he would stand by her in the next, most painful, days, weeks, months... years, if necessary. If she needed and wanted it, he would share eternity with her.

Each minute of each day would be a painful struggle for both of them -- no telling what odd turn the curse might take, shared between them. His fear of contentment might be enough in itself to keep joy away. If not, having to look into the sad, dead eyes of his vampire lover each sunrise would be plenty to keep him from contentment. He had stolen the day from her... he had taken her life away.

Angel had turned more than a few people in all his years. He had outright killed countless others. And each day of his existence since he had regained his soul had been spent in guilty torment over their loss. Drusilla was an especially painful reminder of the beast that lived within him. His greatest sin... until now.

No agony could match this -- this abomination he had committed against the only woman he had ever loved. This would be his ultimate punishment... eternity watching Buffy go through this...

But some twisted, selfish part of him -- perhaps Angelus himself -- thought with pleasure on having her near him all the time... on having her dependent on him, at least for a while...

He looked down upon her sleeping form the way he had a hundred times before... her soft skin, her tousled hair, her sweet lips...

But now her skin was ashen white, and no breath passed those lips.

"Pang" didn't begin to describe the feelings of guilt and horror that washed over him.

This was pure punishment, indeed.

* * *

Chapter 6

She was a vampire.

She prowled the graveyard on silent feet, hunting something, wanting it dead, wanting to feel its blood surge, hot and sweet, down her throat.

She caught a glimpse of movement beyond the mist -- a quick figure, a young girl, running across the lawn, deftly leaping gravestones that blocked her way.

Buffy didn't worry -- she knew she would catch the girl sooner or later... Her victim smelled good, like life, like popcorn, like shopping malls and school lockers and Love's Baby Soft... she smelled like laughter and love and youth...

The girl smelled like blood, and Buffy wanted it all. She was almost upon her -- just around the next crypt.

But she was stopped dead in her tracks, pain searing through her every cell. A cross was being 'incredibly rudely!' shoved in her face. She hissed, looking to see who the offender was.

It was Angel.

"Angel?" She asked, shocked. Yes, that was definitely him grimacing at her, and yes, that was a cross in his hand.

She snarled, spun to kick it away, out of his - human?- grip. It flew several yards, clanking against a mausoleum.

'I must be dreaming!' She thought, as Angel the Vampire Hunter plunged a stake through her heart.

*****

She woke with a start. She was in Angel's bed, Angel's shirt, and Angel was asleep in the chair beside her. She couldn't remember how she had gotten there.

What ever-so-happy event had passed now? She couldn't tell if it was day or night, as was usual in Angel's place.

She was freezing. And starving. She got up, hoping she had a candy bar or something in her purse.

Something serious had gone down; she was covered with quickly healing bruises, and there was an enormous bump on her head.

Apparently, it had been a rough night. She remembered that Angel had been sick... dying, she recalled! It was coming back to her, now. She turned to look at him -- he seemed fine, the gaping wound on his chest was gone. His sleep seemed peaceful enough.

She decided to take a peek to check the sun. What time was it?

She grabbed the heavy velvet curtain at the window farthest from where Angel slept...

"Buffy don't!" he yelled.

She gave the curtain a yank. Suddenly, her whole being was on fire, in searing pain. She screamed and collapsed in a heap on the floor, too blinded by the pain to react or even comprehend.

Angel was there in a moment. He closed the curtain and dropped beside her. She wasn't actually burned. She looked up at him, shocked and hurt.

"Angel?" came her aching question.

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he took her hand and helped her up.

"Buffy... I ... we need to talk..." In all his 250 years, never had lamer words come out of his mouth.

Buffy followed him weakly to the bed, where she sat. Hard.

It was all making sense to her, now. Bad sense. Stuff she didn't want to know sense.

"Oh my God." She said.

He sat in the chair across from her, unable to look into her eyes.

She changed her face from the defensive vampire one she had assumed from the shock of the sunlight, back to plain old Buffy. She knew how to do that... she could do that. When had that happened?

It suddenly dawned on Buffy that she was dead.

"Oh my god." she said again. She changed her features back to game face, and reached up to touch them. She was bumpy and cold... her teeth extremely pointy. Not a completely unfamiliar feeling... she'd had the features once before. But never when she was dead.

She remembered everything, now. The poison... Angel dying... their fight...

The cure.  
Buffy remembered their dark embrace. She had never felt such intense pleasure before. Pain and ecstasy... she and Angel had been one, truly, sharing the essence of life. Her life. Her late life.

"I guess it's safe to assume that things got out of hand." She said to him.

He nodded lamely.

Buffy sat for a few minutes and just blinked. Then she remembered her first behaviors as a vampire...

"Not the sweetest chick in town." she quipped, "I'm sorry." She reached her hand out under Angel's chin, lifting his gaze to meet hers. Blood tears streamed down his face, his features twisted into the most horrible grieving mask she had ever seen. It was far uglier than any vampire face.

"Oh, Angel..." she whimpered, all her exhaustion, shock, and hurt expressed in two words.

He fell to his knees at her feet, his head in her lap. She wrapped her arms around him and they sobbed together.

Both vampires, covering one another in blood, mourned the death of Buffy Summers, the greatest Slayer who ever lived.

* * *

Part 7 - Deep Thoughts, Burning Love, Seduction...

Buffy spent much of the following week in bed -- more from depression than any weakness she was feeling. Angel left only when necessary to get blood for them. He called Giles daily, but Buffy refused to see or speak with anyone. Yet.

The first time he tried to get her to drink, he had brought her the freshest pig's blood, still hot, in a thermos. he tried making it seem as much like soup as possible, even bringing her crackers -- just for appearances. Buffy was sickened by the whole idea -- she hardly ever even ate meat, before. Now she had to drink the stuff of life, straight out of the throat of Babe. Yuck.

She refused for a long while. Angel was patient and understanding -- he'd had a hard time with it too, when he first regained his soul. The idea of something dying for him made him unbearably sad. But he went on to describe to her the various stages of vampire starvation, not the least of which was the eventual loss of control of what one would kill in order to slake it. He'd been there... the threat of murder became a growing possibility as the human side got weaker and the demon, stronger.

Finally, she gave in. She enjoyed the rush at first, but spent the following hour throwing up.

Angel and Buffy spent the hours talking. She had so many questions about her new existence, and it seemed like so little time to learn.

Angel's obvious sorrow, combined with his gentle treatment and deference toward her broke Buffy's heart. He had done the best thing he could do under the circumstances, she knew. There was no way he could have let her cease to exist anymore than she had been willing to let him die. She felt he had done the most loving thing possible for her, and despite his knowing how much he would be punished after. Besides, what a beautiful gift he had given her, in the big scheme of things -- eternal life with him by her side. And to see him torture himself over what he thought he had stolen from her made her wish that maybe she *had* died, after all. But would his guilt have been any less if he'd killed her?

Buffy knew she had forced them both into this position -- by arguing with Angel in the street, by not capturing Faith... by virtue of simply being the Slayer to begin with. If Angel had never met her, he never would have been shot...

She tried expressing all of these things to Angel, but he didn't want to hear any of it. He didn't -- couldn't believe that what he had done was forgivable, any more than his entire life of murder and destruction was...

Through their days of talking, playing chess, or just sitting together, reading, he would never meet her eyes, never touched her, never accepted or returned her words of love. He always slept in the chair by the bed -- those few times he slept at all. It felt to Buffy as though he were a ghost of himself; as if he had left her after all. It hurt more than anything she was going through.

A week had passed, and still Buffy wouldn't leave Angel's bedroom. He came back from his first patrol since his illness and Buffy's death... worried and more tired than ever. She was needed so badly out there. Her friends and Watcher were trying their best to keep things under control, but no new Slayer appeared, and there was only so much five humans could do. Word on the street was that Sunnydale had become a happy hunting ground for pretty much any demonic creature...

When he came in to the house, he was surprised to find it clean and dusted, a cheery fire in the fireplace. Candles were lit all around, and soft music played on the stereo.

"Buffy?" He called, grabbing a pint of blood from the fridge and returning to the living room.

There wasn't any immediate answer. He worried, a little bit... this was a beautiful set up for something really evil... a classic Angelus moment, to the detail.

He got back up and peaked cautiously down the far hallway. "Buffy?" he called again.

"I'll be there in a minute!" She called back. Angel relaxed and sat back down, sipped his dinner, and waited. Obviously, she had gotten out of bed -- that was a good sign. She'd obviously been busy making things more normal all night... also a good sign. He was hopeful for the first time since all this had begun.

"Hey." Buffy said from behind him.

He turned to face the most incredible Buffy he had ever seen. She wore a deep, wine-colored satin, floor-length gown, with no sleeves and a long train. Her face was done with a rosy blush, her eyes smoky, her lips the same blood color as the gown. Her hair was pulled carelessly atop her head, long ringlets escaping to tumble down her shoulders. As she walked past him to stoke the fire, he could see the curved slope of her waist and hip through he plunged backline of her gown. The carved muscle of her exposed back was accentuated by a long strand of tiny pearls, worn backwards.

"Uh...what...you...uh..." Angel stammered

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Willow sneaking out the door, literally tiptoeing.

"Hey!" He called to her.

"Bye!" She said, waved, and was gone.

Buffy peeked back over her shoulder seductively.

"I asked Will to come by and help me get dressed."

"Ah." he replied.

"And we talked... a lot..."

She turned and strolled enticingly over to him. Angel was mostly just frozen in place.

"I've had enough time to think." Buffy said, "I've made some decisions." She stood directly in front of him, now, forcing his eyes in line with her chest. He craned his neck to avoid that view, and looked up at her. She placed her hands gently on either of his cheeks and looked long and lovingly into his eyes.

"And this is the first of them." She said, and kissed him, long and hard.

They said nothing else again that night.

* * *

[Email Ducks][1]

[_The Cure_ Index][2]

[Ducks' Original Fanfic][3]   
(the stories are illustrated, here!) 

   [1]: mailto:slayinsage@buffymail.com
   [2]: http://www.crosswinds.net/~buffygeek/thecure/
   [3]: http://www.crosswinds.net/~buffygeek/ducksoriginal/



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